


no matter the reason, no matter the season

by its_tortle



Series: tumblr drabbles and ficlets [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Awkward Flirting, Blushing Bucky Barnes, Blushing Steve Rogers, Christmas, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, Kisses on cheeks, M/M, Mild Blood, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Short One Shot, Steve Rogers is a Punk, Tumblr Prompt, sorry - Freeform, though it's barely festive, why is that not a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_tortle/pseuds/its_tortle
Summary: based on the prompt “It’s a time of good will, not whatever the hell you’re doing” for my wonderful friendkasia<3
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: tumblr drabbles and ficlets [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951201
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	no matter the reason, no matter the season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [martianbarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/martianbarnes/gifts).



> happy 3rd advent! this is not at all festive, which is a bit of a shame, but i think it turned out cute anyway, so here it is. 
> 
> thank you to the lovely [lauren](https://a-little-counter-esperanto.tumblr.com) for beta reading this! your edits made this all the better!
> 
> title from "like it's christmas" by the jonas brothers
> 
> original, rebloggable post [here](https://its-tortle.tumblr.com/post/637391189100969984/its-so-hard-to-decide-on-just-one-but-could-you)

Steve isn’t in the apartment when Bucky comes home from work, but he’s not initially too worried about it. They’ve been running out of food for days now, so he’s probably just gone to the store.

Bucky heads to the sink and takes off his dirty shirt. His undershirt is soiled too, but the washing powder has gotten ridiculously expensive, so he’ll wear it another day. He hums to himself as he washes some of the grime from the docks off his body and, turning his hum to an upbeat whistle, thinks that he hasn’t been dancing in far too long.

The days at the docks are always so long and exhausting, but Bucky misses the music, and the swishing skirts, and the swing of the dance. And he misses Steve’s little blush as he stands at the bar watching the couples, and the smile he wears whenever a girl gives him the time of day. The latter is far too rare, Bucky thinks. It maddens him.

But as frustrated as he is with the fact that Steve doesn't get the love and attention he deserves, he doesn’t know what he’d do if Steve actually found himself a sweetheart. This way, at least, he still gets Steve all to himself.

Bucky finishes washing up and grabs a new shirt.

With no food to prepare for dinner, he busies himself with firing up the stove. The December winds aren’t  _ too _ cold yet, but with every passing night, the temperatures drop and Bucky grows more worried for Steve’s health. Fortunately, they’d lucked out with their stove and managed to get a good deal on one that actually warms their one-and-a-half room apartment quite well, but with the price of running it, and Steve’s meagre nutrition and threadbare clothes, Bucky can’t help but fear the winter of the new year. 

Part of his salary for the last few weeks has been set aside so that maybe he can get Steve a better coat by then.

Stove ablaze, Bucky drops himself down on the sunken cushions of the sofa and thumbs through a week old newspaper. 

Fifteen minutes and four half-heartedly reread articles later, Steve still isn’t home.

Now, Bucky is a little worried.

Usually, Steve doesn’t go out for long in the winter, especially not without Bucky. And the store is less than a block away, so if Steve had just gone for groceries, he should be back by now.

Unbidden, a thousand gruesome scenarios run through Bucky’s mind. Steve in an alleyway, surrounded by ice and garbage cans and stray cats. Steve with a broken rib, bleeding out on the pavement. Steve knocked out, his body already frozen blue. Steve fighting some goon, his vision blurry, his small fights raised high until he physically can’t get back up.

Fuck.

The scenarios are more violent that Bucky would usually expect from Steve, but now that he’s thought of them, they’re seared in his brain, and every one of them seems like a real possibility.

His shoes are on in two seconds, and then so is his coat, and then he’s tearing the front door open only to stop in his tracks.

Because there’s Steve. Alive and in one piece in the dim light of the hall, looking up at Bucky with wide, startled eyes. Blue, endless blue. A touch of green.

He’s holding a bag of groceries.

Bucky lets out a long breath. He takes the bag off of Steve and steps back into the apartment.

Steve gets his hand out of his coat pocket -- presumably about to get out his keys -- and gives Bucky a wry smile. 

“What’s gotten into you?”

Bucky huffs. “You were gone for a while, punk. Thought you might’ve gotten yourself in some damn trouble again.”

Steve just hums a little and takes to toeing his shoes off in the doorway.

At the table, Bucky begins to unpack the bag. There’s about what he expected -- some potatoes, some powdered eggs, a handful of measly-looking carrots. But then his hand closes around an almost unfamiliar item, round and rubbery, the size of Steve’s fist.

An orange.

“Steve, what’s this?”

“Never seen an orange before, Buck?” Steve pads over to him, shoeless and coatless. 

And when Bucky turns to him, he has only a moment to notice that Steve has stolen one of his shirts again and instead zeroes in on the cut on Steve’s lip, visible now under the glow of the lamp above them. It’s swollen and bleeding, clearly fresh.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Steve doesn’t immediately catch on. “It was less than a quarter,” he defends, “and it’s Christmas time so I thought it’d be a nice treat.”

“Yeah,” Bucky huffs. “It’s a time of good will, not whatever the hell you’re doing.”

Realization dawns on Steve’s face before his frown turns a different kind of defensive, the one that always gets him punched. “Some assholes were hecklin’ Molly O’Connor, how is that not good will?”

“Jesus,” Bucky swears, already on his way back to the sink for a wet rag. 

“You know you would’ve punched ‘em too,” Steve insists. “You like Molly.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well I like it more when your pretty face isn’t bleedin’ all over my shirt.”

Well fuck. 

He hadn’t quite meant to say it like that.

_ Fuck _ .

Bucky panics for just a short moment before he reverts back into his practiced nonchalance. It’s fine, just a small slip up, one he can easily cover up.

And if the cat’s peeking out of the bag just a little bit, they can both pretend it isn’t.

Rag in hand, he turns back to Steve, immediately suppressing a grin at the fact that he’s flushed from the tips of his ears all the way down to the collar of his shirt. Before he has the chance to shut it down, Bucky’s brain procures the thought that he really wants to see how far down the blush goes.

He swallows. “Can I?”   
  


Steve, uncharacteristically quiet, nods, and meets Bucky in the middle of the room.

Silently, and to the backdrop a dull screaming match between the upstairs neighbors, Bucky tends to Steve’s wounds. 

His cheek is quickly turning blue and there’s a scrape on his chin. His lip is still bleeding profusely.

As carefully as he can, Bucky wipes the dirt from the cuts and tries to stop the bleeding. He forces himself not to think about the beauty of the soft skin he’s tending to and deliberately doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes, for fear of giving any more away than he already has today.

“There,” he says finally.

He pulls away, his eyes still glued to where Steve is now licking some of the blood off of his lip.

Before he can say anything else, before he can even move away, Steve is leaning back toward him. He places a delicate hand on Bucky’s shoulder, leverage for reaching up and placing a quick kiss on his cheek.

It’s nothing more than a peck really, but it’s warm and soft and sweet, and Bucky can feel Steve’s warmth bleed into his.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve grins, his thumb lingering on Bucky’s collar before it falls away and Steve goes to unpack the groceries.

And then Bucky is blushing, and when has he ever done  _ that _ ?

He stands there for a moment, turning red, while Steve titters away in the kitchen. Noticing Bucky still hasn’t moved, he soon turns back with a sly smile.

“Are you gonna help or are you just gonna make pretty ol’ me do all the work?”

“Oh God.” Bucky’s blush deepens as he tries and fails to hold back a grin. “Can I take it back?”

Steve beams at him, split lip and sparkling eyes and all. “Nope.”

Bucky melodramatically hangs his head as he goes to help Steve, but he’s sure he wouldn’t take it back even if he could, not if it means that Steve keeps grinning at him like that.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are so dearly appreciated <3
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://its-tortle.tumblr.com/) for more of this and much else u didn't ask for


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